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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26258458">So You Run On Gasoline</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/343EnderSpark/pseuds/343EnderSpark'>343EnderSpark</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABitNotGoodieBag/pseuds/ABitNotGoodieBag'>ABitNotGoodieBag</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote'>OriginalCeenote</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops &amp; Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Anxiety, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Cats are Buttholes, Competence Kink, Finessing, Human Disaster Bucky Barnes, M/M, Sam Wilson is a catch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:22:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,147</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26258458</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/343EnderSpark/pseuds/343EnderSpark, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABitNotGoodieBag/pseuds/ABitNotGoodieBag, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Bucky may have bitten off more than he could chew with this job, he thinks, as he ambles along the sidewalk to the cafe after leaving campus.  He is running off the fumes of exhaustion and hasn’t had more than 3 hours of uninterrupted sleep in the past week.  Between his students and his thesis, he knows that it’s foolish to try so hard to hang on to his barista gig, but DC isn’t a cheap place to live and Bucky can’t live with other people.</p>
</blockquote>Bucky is just trying his best, despite being a human disaster.
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>114</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>343EnderSpark's Big Bang Artworks, Sambucky Big Bang 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>So You Run On Gasoline</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky is used to the stares and whispers by now. They used to bother him at first, people pointing in what they (mistakenly) thought was a discreet manner. They avoid looking into his eyes because they don’t quite know how to react (do they acknowledge the arm or ignore it?). He knows that most prosthetics are not nearly as advanced as his is and the bright silver had attracted a lot of attention before Shuri had added a matte gunmetal coating a week prior, but Bucky will endure all of the strange looks if it means he can move his arm and wiggle his fingers. He knows people reliant on ill-fitting, donated, or scavenged prosthetics and thanks his lucky stars for meeting Shuri Udaku and piquing her interest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>His arm has gone through at least five major upgrades in the 8 months that he’s known her and he could not be more thankful for his improved dexterity and the incredible neural response system she’s developed. It’s almost as if he’s got his arm back. He can tell (if not quite </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span>) if something is hot or cold. He can feel varying degrees of pressure, he can wiggle his fingers, he can even handle delicate things with no fear of breaking them, which has done wonders for his cooking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had been left-handed until he lost his arm and it was so very difficult coaxing his remaining limb into dominance but Bucky was confident that he would have, given the time. But then he met Shuri and he’s back to being a lefty. Bucky’s students have gotten used to it mostly, so he doesn’t have an anxiety attack when he forgets his gloves in the morning. He’s even considering ditching his long sleeves since the weather is starting to get warmer and the thought of walking all over the city drenched in sweat gets less appealing by the day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky enters his classroom a few minutes before the bulk of the students arrive, nodding to Ben, the TA leaving. He quickly hooks his laptop to the projector and queues up the lecture slides for today’s class. His students began trickling in and taking their seats, their quiet conversation filling the silence of the classroom. He gives them a few moments to get settled before he turns the projector back on and greets the class.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I hope you guys are ready for a rousing discussion on random variables and distributions,” Bucky says with a small grin, knowing that they were probably not all that excited about being indoors as the weather was finally warming up and the subject matter is definitely not helping.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not expecting a response, Bucky dives right into his lecture. While there is only one student that asks a question, there are no audible snores or obvious sounds of anyone watching videos or playing games on their laptops, so Bucky counts this class as a success. This is the second semester that he’s taught this particular class and it’s going much more smoothly this go-round.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky knows that a few students signed up for this particular section due to his looks. Many of the TAs have gleefully let him know that there are various declarations of love for him scrawled on the walls of at least three bathrooms around campus and his ratemyprof.com page is full of nonsense regarding his jawline, disregarding his teaching style almost entirely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thankfully he has not had to deal with an in-person encounter as no one has plucked up the courage to try to approach him romantically. Bucky dreads the idea that one day he’ll stand there frozen, awkward, and ill-at-ease while one of his students tries to inappropriately change their relationship. While Bucky is nowhere near being a professor, he doesn’t believe that fraternizing with his students is wise (even if he were inclined to pursue any of them in the first place, which he most assuredly was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>).</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The other TAs in his department were pretty evenly split on their feelings about their students. Half are totally fine with blurring the line with an undergrad student, as long as they aren’t currently teaching them (mostly the 21-23-year-old crowd), and the other half see the students as completely off-limits. The older ones, like Bucky, feel that they are at completely different points in their lives and they would have nothing in common with their mostly teenaged pupils.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>All of this buzzes in the back of his mind as he finishes his presentation with five minutes to spare. He goes over the student’s homework pages in their textbooks and makes sure to remind them about the quiz scheduled for the next class. He dismisses the bored-looking kids to the rest of their day and disconnects his laptop from the projector and slides it into his bag. No one approaches him and he heads over to the shared cubby that he’s been told is an office to keep his required office hours.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky may have bitten off more than he could chew with this job, he thinks, as he ambles along the sidewalk to the cafe after leaving campus. He is running off the fumes of exhaustion and hasn’t had more than 3 hours of uninterrupted sleep in the past week. Between his students and his thesis, he knows that it’s foolish to try so hard to hang on to his barista gig, but DC isn’t a cheap place to live and Bucky can’t live with other people.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The military had been both his greatest enemy and his most helpful ally. He had lost his left arm to an IED during his second tour in Afghanistan and most days he’s ok with that. But the bad days mean he must live alone. The days that he can see nothing but the reflection of the unforgiving sun off of the flat, sandy desert and smell the seared flesh of his unit, knowing that he was surely going to die soon. The days where any surprising noise can trigger an episode leaving him near-catatonic for hours.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Living alone in the center of the city requires more money than he is currently receiving from his good old pal Uncle Sam, so the Busy Bean is his side hustle to keep a roof over his and Alpine's heads (even if that roof was a tiny studio). And what a companion Alpine is. Bucky had come across the cat soon after enrolling in George Washington University for his graduate studies and Alpine had been a good buddy, coming and going as he pleased from Bucky’s apartment into the city. Bucky knows that he should try to make human friends as well, but to be honest, Bucky has never been all that good at making friends. Sure, he has-</span>
  <em>
    <span> had, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he berates himself, them. Once upon a time. But that was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Before</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky shakes his head to clear those thoughts. He really needs to find some people here in DC, because that’s why he came, right? To start anew. Can’t be the old Bucky in a new city, otherwise, he could have just stayed his broken butt in Brooklyn surrounded by all of his failures and demons. The problem is that most of his interactions are with undergraduate freshmen and sophomores in his class or the customers at the shop and there’s only so much small talk he can make while making whatever sugary coffee monstrosity is in style at any given moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knows he has Shuri, the genius prodigy from the small, secretive country of Wakanda who has been steadily improving his arm ever since she caught sight of him in the robotics lab. He counts himself lucky that she insists on ‘fixing another broken white boy’ like him while she’s here completing her fourth master’s degree. Bucky does not understand how she does it, she’s only seventeen, but Shuri is the smartest person that he’s encountered in all his worldly travels. They are in similar fields, Shuri in data analytics and himself in data science, but the differences are enough for them to be enrolled in two completely different colleges. Shuri is much more focused on her first love of engineering whereas Bucky has been a math whiz since he was a boy and figured he may as well get paid for what he’s good at (besides being a damn good shot for the army, at least). Hopefully, there will be a cushy desk job in his future as Bucky thinks he’s had enough action to last two lifetimes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>None of this speculation is particularly helpful, though, as he pushes the ‘employees only’ door open as he arrives at The Busy Bean with 23 seconds to spare before he is scheduled to begin his shift. He grabs his apron off its hook after he clocks in, nodding hello to his favorite co-worker slash friend (but they don’t call it that, that would mean </span>
  <em>
    <span>feelings</span>
  </em>
  <span>), Natasha as he makes his way behind the counter to assist her. Bucky likes Natasha because he has the sense that she, also, isn’t quite what one would call ‘normal.’ Not that she has come out and said anything. That’s part of why they get along so well, they both hate pointless chatter and are comfortable spending hours sharing the same 6’x6’ area exchanging no more than a dozen words.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The shift passes by, non-eventful for the next two hours. Natasha sends him a small smile as she heads out of the door, leaving him alone for the last two hours to close up the shop. The afternoon traffic isn’t as bad as the morning rush, but it is steady and Bucky is jogging from the espresso machine to the blender to the register to take care of the few customers that did come in for an afternoon pick-me-up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had just handed a tired-looking student their large mocha when Bucky feels his heart start beating triple time. The man making his way up to the counter is gorgeous and Bucky prays to any deity listening that he isn’t blushing to the tips of his ears. His smooth brown skin is flawless and he has bright eyes that promise Bucky nothing but trouble. His mouth is curved up in a small smile and a little divot has made a home between his brows as he peruses the menu.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man pauses before he moves toward the register, considering the caffeinated offerings and Bucky hopes he won’t have to explain that, no, they didn’t serve double whip venti frappuccinos (that happens far too often for his liking). Seeming to make up his mind, looks straight at Bucky and smiles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well hello there.” He says, grinning widely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky is done for. Even his voice is dazzling, ringing out deep and warm. and Bucky can feel the goosebumps breaking out all over his skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
    
  </p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Welcome to the Busy Bean, where we’re busy be-an perked up! What can I get started for you?” Bucky recites and he is immediately regretting defaulting to the stupid welcome phrase that he hates with a passion, especially since his manager isn’t even here to see whether he does it or not (he may or may not have been reprimanded for not being ‘perky’ enough in his greetings).</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man’s smile widens after the greeting, “I’ll take a medium white chocolate mocha with two pumps of raspberry and extra whipped cream for myself, and then I have a question for the future.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky’s blush immediately faded at Sam’s order. It figures that this magnificent man would like weird, overly-sweet nonsense, Bucky thinks, oh well, no one’s perfect. “Alright, can I get a name for the order?” He says as he enters the drink order into his register and looks up in askance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m Sam.” He says. “Do you guys do travelers here? I was recommended by a friend, but they didn’t know if that was something you provided.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We sure do, we just need about an hour’s heads up,” Bucky answers as he moves to make Sam’s beverage. “Did you need one today? It’ll be about 20 minutes if you do?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam watches Bucky as he flits back and forth behind the counter. “No, I’m good for today, we received a donation of coffee and cookies. But I’ll make sure to order mine in advance next time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s too bad.” Bucky finishes the drink and offers it to Sam with a flourish. “Your brew, Sam.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam takes the cup, their fingers brushing together lightly in the exchange. Bucky feels his skin burn where Sam touched it. “Thank you, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you-” His eyes dart down to Bucky’s name tag, “James.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s Bucky, actually.” He states, grin widening. “At least that's what my friends call me.” Bucky can’t believe his mouth. He clearly needs a nap or something, because his mouth has completely stopped clearing the things it says with his brain and Bucky really has to get a handle on that before he goes and confesses something equally embarrassing like wanting to literally climb Sam like a tree.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well then, Bucky.” Sam nods his head in farewell as he blows lightly through the small hole at the top of his drink. Bucky is sure he will die from a lack of oxygen to his brain. “Until next time.” He winks and leaves the store, whistling a happy little tune.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky barely hears the sound of the bell on the door tinkling, he is still lost in thoughts of Sam’s mouth, pursed open and blowing.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>It’s Thursday and Bucky is trying not to get excited for his shifts at the shop on Mondays and Thursdays, but he's not sure if he manages to pull it off. Sam has been in four times now, on these particular days, and while his personal coffee order remains as over-complicated as can be, Bucky can’t help but the fondness with which he thinks of the man. Natasha sends him a knowing smile as his eyes keep drifting over to the clock on the wall. Bucky knows what she’s thinking, he’s been staring at the clock for 15 minutes waiting on the shop's phone to ring.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So your boyfriend called.” She starts with a knowing grin, causing Bucky to deflate slightly. “Ordered another couple of travelers.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>that the one time he took a bathroom break would cause him to miss Sam’s call. Natasha had noticed him insisting on answering the phone at certain times and </span>
  <em>
    <span>of course, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she had eavesdropped, wanting to know who had Bucky so uncharacteristically flustered. She had stayed after her shift was over, just to peek at the mystery man himself when he came in to pick up his order and she had watched Bucky become giddier than she had ever seen him. Of course, giddy for Bucky was not a normal sort of giddy, but Natasha knew that Bucky had developed a crush on this ‘Sam’ character, and armed with that knowledge, she had not stopped teasing him about it since that day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Boyfriend?” Bucky says, trying to keep the small smile off his face. “I don’t know who you think you spoke to, but there is no boyfriend.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Natasha shakes her head in exasperation. “A certain Mr. nearly-tall, dark, and handsome? Not ringing any bells?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How do you even...?” Bucky groans. “Your shift is over by the time he gets here!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have to watch over you, you goof,” Natasha says, favoring Bucky with an actually sincere smile. “You’re a friend and I watch out for my friends.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aw, that’s equal parts creepy and sweet.” Bucky responds as he throws his arm around her shoulders. She wrinkles her nose and quickly ducks out of the way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am many things, Barnes, but sweet will never be one of them.” She levels a stern look at him before removing her apron. “Give lover-boy my love.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>She clocks out and Bucky is once again alone during what has been the slowest day of the week so far. They have had, maybe four customers all afternoon, and Bucky is bored beyond belief. He is literally twiddling his thumbs after filling Sam’s travelers from the drip machine when he feels tingling on the back of his neck. He looks up and sees Sam approaching and he quickly moves to the register. He opens his mouth to give the customary greeting before thinking better of it.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good afternoon, what creative blend have you got for me today?” Bucky asks, smirking as he goes to grab the two travelers that had been called in earlier.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam returns the expression and pretends to think about it for a second. “Hmm,” He starts, “I’ll do a white mocha latte, half soy, half almond milk with 3 pumps of toffee and just a tiny bit of whipped cream.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky inwardly rolls his eyes as he punches in the order. He cannot understand why all of this extra nonsense is necessary. He’s not a coffee purist in any way, he loves his cream and sugar, it’s just he can’t understand the necessity of the weird milks and extra flavor shots. If you get coffee, it should taste like coffee, not some frou-frou thing someone would get to say that they did, in fact, ‘like coffee.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“One day you’re going to ask for something we don’t have and spare me the effort of making your sweet milk juice.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam laughs as he pulls out his wallet to pay for his order. “‘Sweet milk juice?’ I’m calling it that from now on.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky quickly takes Sam’s payment before he begins preparing the overly sweet drink and sees him eyeing the pastry case, and not for the first time. “You know we offer delicious pastries to go with the giant boxes of coffee you seem so fond of. I personally recommend the pumpkin bread.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pumpkin? Looks like we have a basic over here.” Sam says as he looks around at an imaginary crowd.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, whatever, people love the pumpkin.” Bucky scoffs as he adds more than a ‘tiny bit’ of whipped cream, knowing by now that Sam likes the sugar. “It’s me. I’m people, but you could be too. So how about it? You want me to box up a loaf to go?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam smiles as Bucky hands him his drink, their fingers doing their customary dance as the cup changes hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I would, but someone else is in charge of the sweets, they’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>particular about what is served. I’m just the coffee guy.” Sam says, slightly put out at the thought of not taking anything from the pastry case with him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh crap, I didn’t mean to get you down, Sam.” Bucky feels terrible. “It’s all good, forget I mentioned it. Bad cake.” He shakes a finger at the pastry case in admonishment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, you’re all good.” Sam holds up his cup. “We all have our vices, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky suddenly realizes that this man comes in on a regular schedule to get enough coffee for a large gathering of people. He comes in in the afternoons and he can’t be traveling too far, not with all of the coffee he leaves with. Bucky thinks that perhaps Sam may be on his way to an AA meeting and he has just inadvertently stuck his foot in his mouth, not like that’s an unfamiliar feeling for him at this point.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Vices...yep! We’re all fighting a hidden battle.” The moment the words leave his mouth he wants to shove them way back down into his traitorous throat. What kind of patronizing nonsense was that?</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam looks at Bucky strangely, his smile faltering a bit. “That’s certainly true. Luckily we can certainly do our best to help others.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For sure! Busy Bean is a one-hundred percent judgment-free zone at all times.” Bucky continues to curl inside himself and pray that his mouth stops making noises at this point because he is sure he’s going to spontaneously combust if Sam keeps looking at him with all that soft pity. Wait, why is Sam looking at </span>
  <em>
    <span>him </span>
  </em>
  <span>like that?</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam adopts an understanding look. “Do you,” He begins, “Do you have someone you can talk to?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky is confused. He is supposed to be asking Sam this, or not, since it is most definitely not any of his business at all what Sam gets up to in his free time. “I-” Bucky stops suddenly. “I’m confused. I was going to ask you the same thing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam cocks his head to the side, questioning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You always come in the afternoon and order enough coffee for a gathering, and there are churches in the area. I’m sorry, I just kind of assumed you were going to a meeting.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam looks at Bucky concerned. “It’s not AA if that’s what you were thinking, but I’m sure there is a local meeting I can help you find.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky facepalms. Of course, he’s now gone and made Sam think that he was trying to solicit assistance in dealing with a nonexistent substance abuse problem. “I’m not-- I mean, I was failing miserably at being considerate.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>A quick giggle escapes from Sam’s mouth before he brings a hand up to stifle the noise. He and Bucky stand there in amused silence for a beat before Sam speaks. “I actually run a non-profit around the corner for vets. We hold support meetings six times a week.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky looks at Sam again. He really looks at the man in front of him who is so good that he would try to find help for some random guy he thought was stumbling over asking for help and offers aid with no hesitation. Bucky knows that Sam will understand what so few do and it is that understanding that has him raising his other arm, the one he keeps by his side and constantly covered in a latex glove while on duty at the cafe. He peels off the black latex, keeping his eyes lowered, and wiggles his fingers a bit, listening to the slight mechanical whir. He glances up at Sam who is entranced.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is my favorite souvenir from Afghanistan.” Bucky says, startling Sam into looking back at his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Man, what?!” Sam gapes like a fish after he processes Bucky’s words. “That is the coolest shit I’ve ever seen!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky grins, glad that Sam doesn’t do the awkward thing that other people do where they either ask about it or avoid it altogether. “Right? Shuri, an actual </span>
  <em>
    <span>princess </span>
  </em>
  <span>of Wakanda and a classmate of mine, made it.” Bucky’s voice lowers a bit. “It’s almost like having my arm back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam’s eyes hold nothing but empathy as he pulls his wallet back out, drawing out a card and sliding it across the counter toward Bucky. “You already know about the afternoon meetings, but the rest of the times and details are on the back. I only lead half of them, so if you decide to come, you can take your pick of us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky swallows around a lump in his throat as he nods, slipping the card into his back pocket as Sam grabs his coffee and accompaniments. He smiles one last time at Bucky before turning to head out the door, leaving Bucky to his jumbled thoughts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He passes the time until the shops closing quickly, wiping down the appliances and washing the cups, plates, and silverware, sending off a quick text to Nat asking her to meet up at their favorite spot to unwind once he’s finished. Her social calendar is just as bare as his, so of course, she confirms and after locking up, he strolls deeper downtown toward the delightful little mom and pop drug store with an honest-to-God soda fountain seemingly untouched by the hands of time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something about the crisp white paint and the bright blue and red of the hand-painted signs decorating the walls soothes Bucky in a way that he can’t quite describe and apparently it has the same effect on his taciturn friend because they have spent many hours at the counter, malted shakes in front of them, just enjoying each others’ company and finding that sense of belonging for just a little while.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sees Natasha’s small frame approaching from the opposite direction and he cracks the tiniest of smiles. They enter the shop and Mr. Reynolds, the current owner, and son or the original owner, smiles at them welcoming them into the shop and they make their way up to the counter, quickly taking a seat on worn vinyl-topped stools. The chrome edge of the counter is cold to the touch and it shocks Bucky as he leans forward and grabs one of the sticky menus from the condiment carriers for them to peruse. Of course, there are modern sodas, Coca-Cola, and the like, but Pop’s has the good stuff too. Unusual combinations like sparkling blueberry-pineapple, or a refreshing fizzy cranberry limeade that Bucky has come to love. There are milkshakes and malts, banana splits, and homemade ice cream sandwiches on the gooiest chocolate chip cookies.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky sighs in contentment as Natasha makes her final decision. Mr. Reynolds takes their order with a smile before moving away to prepare it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, I assume that lover-boy has done something?” Natasha asks, clearly excited to get some gossip out of her stoic companion. Her brow is raised a bit, which in Natasha, might as well have been her waggling them and grinning from ear to ear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well. I may have accidentally implied that he was an alcoholic so stupidly and badly that he thought that </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>was one and that I was trying to find a sponsor or something.” Bucky ducks his head a bit, “Well, at least that’s what I think happened.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Natasha cannot help but snort, her eyes twinkling with mirth. “How did you manage </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>particular fuck up?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Upselling.” Bucky sighs. “I figured, what goes well with a fuckton of coffee, but a fuckton of pastry, right?” At Natasha’s nod, he continues, providing her a rundown of his disastrous attempt to get Sam some pumpkin bread and somehow turning a sugar fix into a full-blown substance addiction in both of their minds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the end of the story, Mr. Reynolds has dropped off their treats, a fizzy limeade for Bucky, a Rootbeer float for Natasha, and a giant banana split with two spoons for them to share. Natasha is trying very hard not to cackle and Bucky can see that she will soon lose the fight. She does just as he gets to the part where he admits confusion as to why Sam is trying to help </span>
  <em>
    <span>him </span>
  </em>
  <span>while he’s trying to help </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sam</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have never wished that the security cameras recorded sound as much as I do right now.” She crows as Bucky takes a pouty bite of the chocolate ice cream. “You should have a show. Bucky: The Inept Wooer.” She frames the title on an imagined screen with her hands and laughs again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky can’t help but laugh with her as he laments, “Every time he comes, it’s like my mouth and brain just don’t consult each other at all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sends him a wicked smirk. “I bet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>His brain helpfully supplies a lewd image of Sam’s imagined O-face and he turns bright red. “I hate you, Natta.” He says sipping his drink to avoid further embarrassment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So what are the travelers for, if not for some anonymous society?” Natasha inquires.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky sputters and coughs as his limeade goes down the wrong pipe. Natasha just raises a brow at him until he has his breathing back under control. He lets out a deep breath and answers. “It </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>a support group.” He stops and looks at the counter. “Only, it’s for veterans.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can feel Natasha’s eyes on him as they soften into concern and understanding. They don’t talk about it, about her past, but he knows she understands. She hasn’t volunteered any information about her life in Russia before she immigrated into the States, but he sees the same haunted look in her eyes he sees in his reflection and maybe she didn’t serve the nation (maybe she did, but she doesn’t talk about it is the point), but she knows about impossible choices in someone else’s definition of honor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hums quietly at the answer. He takes another bite of ice cream, strawberry this time, and he considers his options. He has just been bemoaning the lack of anyone in his life but Nat and Shuri, and while the goal isn’t making friends, he would expand his network by meeting new people. These people are also not just any people, they’ve all been affected by conflict in some way, they would understand his pain in ways that other people would not, and that scares him. Bucky doesn’t know if he can handle being </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen </span>
  </em>
  <span>by strangers and lay himself bare.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you think I should go?” He asks quietly, still not looking up from his melancholy thoughts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her small hand on his shoulder is warm and he turns toward her, not expecting the cold of the whipped cream she smears across his cheek with her spoon. He recoils, scrunching up his nose as he wipes the whipped cream from his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bucky, I think that only you know the answer to that.” She says lightly, a small grin on her lips. “But I </span>
  <em>
    <span>will </span>
  </em>
  <span>say that loverboy makes a nice addition to the ‘pro’ column of the list I know you’re making in your head right now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smiles at her insight and leans over, lightly bumping her shoulder with his. “You’re good people, Natty.” He knows his random abbreviations of her name cause her to clench her jaw and grumble on the inside so if she can tease him about Sam, he’ll give as good as he gets.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Natasha rolls her eyes at him fondly, “I hate you, James.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Back to </span>
  <em>
    <span>James </span>
  </em>
  <span>now, are we?” He asks, finishing the last bit of chocolate ice cream before Natasha can grab it with her spoon earning him an unhappy furrowing of her eyebrows.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re about to be at Barnes because it seems that you were never taught that you do not steal the last of a woman’s chocolate.” She settles for the last bit of chocolate sauce on a piece of banana.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky chuckles and their conversation drifts off into a story of some asshole Natasha said stormed off in a frustrated huff after she played increasingly dumb while he came up with less subtle ways to ask for her number, holding up the line of irritated customers. Bucky will decide what to do about Sam and his meetings another day, right now he’s still trying to keep his head above water. Maybe Alpine would know what to do.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>The morning is not unusual or special in any way. The normal amount of traffic bustles outside of his window. The sky is a cloudless blue canvas stretched across the world and the air is still as smoggy as ever and Bucky is content where he is, half-under his thin sheet. Alpine is curled at his back, the cat’s tail tapping against his shoulder blade ever so often. The soft taps ground Bucky as he savors the one morning that he has no classes, no shift at the cafe, and no office hours. His time is his own for the next three hours and usually, Bucky would be working on his thesis, but Alpine’s small form is such a comforting presence that he is loath to get out of bed and disturb his buddy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alpine had shown up the previous night after being gone for eight straight days. Bucky had tried not to worry about him and kept an eye out but had seen no sign of the cat until he showed up at the window at his usual time as if he’d only been gone a day or two and not over a week.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky can’t imagine what the world is like for something so small and vows to be a better pal to his furry comrade, thinking that it may be time to outfit the cat with a little harness or something since the two collars Bucky bought were fine until Alpine left the apartment and then they disappeared never to be seen again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky finds his thoughts drifting back to Sam and his offer. Today is one of the days that Sam leads the meetings and Bucky knows that if he does go, he will go to one of Sam’s. As time has passed and Bucky has weighed the option in his mind, he is finding fewer and fewer reasons to avoid the whole thing. A quiet voice has taken to whispering, ‘what’s the harm?’ every time he feebly attempts to come up with another reason to stay home. Alpine apparently doesn’t think too much of his brooding, because he climbs over Bucky’s midsection, claws careful not to do any damage to settle against Bucky’s chest. He cocks his head to the side as his tail continues tapping Bucky’s pecs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky grins at the cat, gently stroking his fluffy white head in the way he knows the kitty loves. A few moments later and a surprisingly loud purr fills the silence of the room, Alpine clearly just as content as Bucky to stay in bed as long as possible. Bucky continues to debate going to the meeting that afternoon as Alpine dozes, huffing small breaths out every so often.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, nature calls, and Bucky is forced to leave his little nest to take care of his body's needs in the bathroom. He decides he may as well shower and get ready for the day and does so, finally exiting his bathroom in a cloud of steam. He makes his way to the kitchenette, intent on feeding and caffeinating himself in order to get a few things done on his thesis, only to find a grumpy Alpine barring his path to the coffee maker.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>A grumbly meow and a few treats later, Bucky is free to brew himself a pick-me-up and eat the last questionable looking banana without Alpine glaring at him. “I guess you wanted to lie in a bit more,” Bucky remarks to the dour-looking cat as they cross the small living space.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alpine swishes his tail and hops up onto the arm of Bucky’s lone recliner, waiting for his human to grab his laptop and sit down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now you’re rushing me?” Bucky asks, indignant, even though he does grab the laptop and plop down. He skims over the latest addition to his thesis, making sure that there are no errors, before attempting to outline the next section. Alpine watches Bucky silently, even as his thoughts drift back to Sam’s eyes and his smile and the little jolt that passes through Bucky every time he hands him his oversweet brew. The crinkle of his eyes when Bucky says something particularly ridiculous. The kindness and sincerity in his voice as he tried to help a weird guy at a coffee shop he barely knew. Bucky wants to go to the meeting. There is no little voice telling him not to anymore, and Bucky sinks back into the cushions, his paper forgotten.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alpine takes this opportunity to stroll across the keyboard of his laptop to settle on Bucky’s lap comfortably. Bucky, used to this asshole behavior, just sets his computer aside and scratches behind his ears absentmindedly, still daydreaming about Sam.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you think, bud, should I go see loverboy?” Bucky asks, looking down at the purring cat. Alpine looks back up at him thoughtfully, twitching his ears slightly. Alpine’s meow sounds so much like a yes that Bucky can’t help but laugh. “Well I guess that settles it then.”</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>That very evening finds Bucky reaching the nondescript front of the building listed on the slightly bent business card. He sees VetSource listed on the plaque to the left of the entrance, notes the suite number, and he takes a deep breath, walking through the front doors before he can talk himself out of this. The session tonight is one led by Sam, Bucky figured he may as well go when he knew there would be a familiar face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam hasn’t brought up the meetings again in the few times that they’ve seen each other at the shop and Bucky has the feeling that Sam wouldn’t ask again, not wanting to push him into something he may not be ready for, but if Bucky waited until he was completely ready to do things, precious little would ever get accomplished.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The strange feeling of guilt at making Sam wait on him had been a tiny but persistent concern in the back of his mind and Bucky supposes that’s a good enough reason to show his face and try the unknown. Bucky turns the corner of the dimly lit hallways and sees a door propped open. Sam’s head, followed by the gorgeous rest of him, appears in the hallway clearly looking for enthusiastically early people (though enthusiastic is being generous).</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bucky! You made it!” Sam exclaims with a smile, clearly pleased to see him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam’s excitement is contagious and Bucky ducks his head to hide the ridiculous grin on his face. “I was told there would be coffee and cookies.” Bucky says as he follows Sam inside and down a short hallway to a large room with a podium at one end, an assortment of chairs in vague semi-circles, and a folding table against the wall laden a few small boxes along with two familiar travelers, cups, sugar, cream and a cup of stirrers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam chuckles. “Oh I see how it is, the free food always wins.” He gestures to the table laden with refreshments, “Help yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Bucky is adding cream and sugar to his beverage, he hears a few more people trickle in. Sam greets them all warmly and Bucky quickly makes his way to a chair near the back of the group, only intending on observing. Bucky doesn’t know if he would ever have the strength to get up and share his story without breaking down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He listens as Sam begins, welcoming everyone and opening the floor for anyone who wishes to speak to the group. He moves away from the podium, taking the chair at the end of the innermost crescent. Bucky watches as a man begins with a funny story about how his son and his friends had come up with a prank so ingenious that it had immediately reminded him of his comrades and the jokes they used to play on each other to pass the time on base as they waited for something, </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>to happen. By the end of the tale, even Bucky had cracked a smile and the mood was relaxed. He hadn’t moved from his seat, and it seems that the podium is there more for decoration, because people continue to remain seated as they speak.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Many more people share personal stories and observations, not necessarily dwelling on the past, more just commiserating with how they are all doing their best to live a life as free of their respective traumas as possible. They also all seem to understand that being affected by the things that they have seen and done isn’t a sign of weakness or brokenness. That they were dealt a shitty hand but that it didn’t have to define them and that they can still find their place in the world.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>A woman begins to speak about driving home, saying that it was just a normal afternoon until she saw a plastic bag drifting on the side of the road. She recounts how she swerved to avoid it because she had just known that it was an IED. Her tale ends by her being pulled over and given a field sobriety test, the officer not believing her when she tried to explain through her anxiety. She quietly finishes, revealing that she almost spent the night in jail because of some roadside trash and Bucky relates to her story more than any that has been told that night.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He is speaking before he’s aware, quietly at first, telling them about how he doesn’t quite remember how it is to easily meet people and make friends like before. He isn’t telling a cohesive story, not really, but he continues, pouring all of his frustration in both himself and the world out, and eventually, he has nothing left to say and tapers off into silence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky, overwhelmed by the fact he just spoke in front of an entire crowd of strangers, but somehow </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>, stays seated as Sam gets up to call the meeting to a close after one last lighthearted account from a middle-aged woman with a crutch leaning against her chair. The quiet murmurs of everyone giving their various goodbyes wash over him as he tries to get his heart to stop racing. He has never told anyone exactly what happened to him in Afghanistan (he still hasn’t, to be honest). Hasn’t told anyone the fact that he had given up, had accepted his imminent death, and was filled with an empty sort of peace as he lay there bleeding, surrounded by his fallen squad. The peace had left him soon after, but the emptiness is still there sometimes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes swim with the onslaught of tears that threaten to fall and he bites his lip and squeezes his eyelids shut, a few errant tears rolling silently down his face. How could he have known that it would be like this here? That he would be equal parts petrified, supportive, and accepted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He vacantly hears the noise trickle down to just the sounds of Sam shuffling around the room, picking up empty coffee cups, napkins, and various other bits of trash before moving over to clean up what remained of the refreshments.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, Sam sits down, leaving an empty chair between them. He doesn’t speak, he sits quietly and Bucky is grateful. He doesn’t think he has the words to describe what is going through his head. His face prickles with the drying trails left behind and he feels a sort of catharsis. They sit together in silence for a few minutes until Bucky turns to Sam slowly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well.” Is all he manages to get out, not knowing how else to fill the quiet. It’s not a sad sigh, it’s more of a declaration and he’s ready to get out of that room into a completely different place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam considers him for a moment before speaking, seeming to understand. “You hungry?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The question is unexpected but Bucky is grateful for the implied offer of companionship. “I could eat.” He says leaning back a bit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know a spot nearby, has the best patty melt you’ve ever tasted.” Sam says, smiling as he gets to his feet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well lead the way, boss.” Bucky says as they make their way outside, Sam locking up behind them.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>They walk in silence, eventually ending up on the same block as Pop’s. Instead of heading inside the drug store, Sam stops at the diner two doors down, holding the door open for Bucky. They settle into a cracked booth next to a window. A bored-looking server drops off silverware and menus before taking their drink order, leaving them to silently regard each other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry about before,” Bucky begins, keeping his eyes on the worn Formica tabletop.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, hey.” Sam interrupts. “None of that, now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky looks up to see Sam looking at him sternly. He opens his mouth to continue anyway until Sam’s brows draw even closer together at the motion. “Ok I take it back, I’m not sorry. I had know idea what to expect and it wasn’t...that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam clasps his hands together on the table and leans back, eyes carefully regarding Bucky. “I remember the first time I went to a support meeting.” Sam begins, “It was an unorganized mess. A shrink was running the show, and not ethically, that’s for sure.” Sam sighs, shaking his head. “I didn’t go to another one for two years, and that time I was almost dragged through the doors. I wasn’t in any mood to go through the uncomfortable preaching I’d heard before, ya know? My pops does enough of that for several lifetimes. Long story short, it was the complete opposite. The vibe wasn’t accusing or pitying, it was just-” Sam pauses. “It was just a bunch of us sitting around talking shit. No shrinks, no forcing us to talk about some predetermined topic. We were just shooting the shit and commiserating.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sounds like a much better time.” Bucky agrees as their server returns with a carafe of coffee and two glasses of water covered in condensation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You two ready?” He asks dully, staring at his order pad in disinterest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky snorts a laugh and orders the patty melt, returning Sam’s conspiratorial smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you?” He asks, turning to Sam.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll have the same, thanks.” He says as they both hand over their battered menus.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky grabs the carafe in his left hand filling his chipped mug up with the steaming liquid. He sees Sam’s eye follow his hand and he flexes it unconsciously as he sets the pot back down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I still can’t get over that, man.” Sam says, awe coloring his voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I couldn’t either, at first.” Bucky replies, adding cream and sugar to his coffee. “Shuri is the smartest person I’ve ever met. Who else just makes someone an arm with this kind of dexterity? And to be able to control it neurologically?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait, What?!” Sam’s eyes are huge and his mouth hangs open.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky can’t help but laugh at the gobsmacked look on his face. That snaps him out of it and he leans back against the booth, trying (and failing) to look less excited.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You mean…” Sam trails off as the implications of Bucky’s statement race through his mind. “You aren’t feeling very SkyNet right now are you?” Sam asks and it is so far from what Bucky was expecting that he snorts a bit of his coffee painfully up his nose.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?!” He sputters, indignant. “I’m not a murderbot!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam just smiles a wicked smile at him and Bucky’s breath catches. This man is </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>gorgeous it doesn’t seem possible and he’s smiling at </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bucky </span>
  </em>
  <span>of all people. “It never hurts to ask.” He says facetiously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky can’t find fault with Sam’s logic, despite finding the comparison to Terminator funny. “Well, are you an axe-murderer?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam laughs. “I would never use anything as messy as an axe.” He takes a sip of his (normal for once, Bucky thinks with a snort) coffee. “Do I hear--Is it...Brooklyn?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky smirks. “Your ears are correct, Let me guess...Jersey?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam’s jaw drops in indignation. “Excuse me-” He stops as Bucky chuckles quietly. “That was cold, man.” He shakes his head. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jersey</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The nerve.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was the Terminator in me.” Bucky says, deadpan, as he sips his coffee.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam huffs as their server approaches with their food. “I’ll have you know I was born in Harlem which is certainly </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> in Jersey.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky, still amused at Sam’s offense, just smirks and reaches for the ketchup, squirting it all over his fries.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam stares at him, scandalized. “And you're a </span>
  <em>
    <span>drizzler</span>
  </em>
  <span>?!” Sam snatches the ketchup bottle as soon as Bucky sets it down and squirts a puddle on the edge of his plate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky has never really thought about the way he consumes the ketchup and fries, but he figures that his way is better, though now that Sam has called him on it. “This is the more efficient way, Sam.” Bucky uses his disappointed teacher tone and yet Sam is unconvinced.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The more efficient way to get soggy ass fries, you mean.” Sam says, giving Bucky’s plate the side-eye as he dips his fries in his little ketchup lake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If your fries last long enough to get soggy, you’ve already got problems.” Bucky takes a bite of his sandwich and holy hell, Sam was not exaggerating. It must have shown on his face because Sam was nodding knowingly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your life has been changed,” Sam says sagely. “Embrace it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky doesn’t want to examine how right Sam is, not because of the delicious sandwich, but because of him. The completely random turn of events that had some mystery person recommend the Busy Bean to Sam, Sam comes in looking like a snack (and wasn’t Bucky </span>
  <em>
    <span>starving </span>
  </em>
  <span>), Bucky clearly becomes intrigued and then Sam turns out to be this ridiculously competent, kind, selfless, encouraging person and what the hell else is Bucky supposed to do but latch on, and quickly?</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hums in agreement, savoring another bite. “So...DC? Nothing like Manhattan.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“VetSource isn’t going to spread itself around the country.” Sam says, dipping another fry. “We laid good groundwork in New York, and so I decided if I was truly going to take this show on the road, I may as well get to it. DC seemed like a good next location to me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky nods, “That’s some calling. I can barely handle my nonsense. My students take up a huge chunk of my time as it is, I hardly have time to live.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re a professor?” Sam asks, tilting his head to the side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh no, I’m working on my Master’s at George Washington. I just handle a few of the intro-level stat courses for my department head.” Bucky sighs. “Fingers crossed, I’ll be finished in December. Then I can snatch up a nice, cushy desk job.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam holds up his crossed fingers, “It’s in the universe now, you’ve got this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky is filled with warmth at the genuine kindheartedness of Sam. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>You’d </span>
  </em>
  <span>make an excellent professor, you know. You’re great at making people feel good about themselves.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam looks pleased with Bucky’s praise. “In another life, perhaps. What’s your area of study?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t laugh,” Bucky says, knowing Sam isn’t going to listen, “Data science with a focus on machine learning.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So when I asked about SkyNet earlier-“ Sam begins with a grin as Bucky groans. “I knew I was on to something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh just yuk it up, why dontcha?” Bucky says, dour, and Sam can’t help but break, laughing loudly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You should see your face, Buck.” Sam manages to calm his laughter. “You look so defeated.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky’s brain </span>
  <em>
    <span>has </span>
  </em>
  <span>been defeated. Not by Sam and his terrible humor, but from the ‘Buck’ that just passed through those perfect lips. Bucky’s mind has dropped to the very bottom of the gutter and his mouth and brain better get it together before he vaults himself over this table into Sam’s lap. He’s pretty sure Sam is attracted to him too, it hasn’t been </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>long since he’s engaged in flirtatious banter, but Sam is something special. Bucky daydreams about Sam splitting him in half, for sure, but he also dreams about the morning after. About making space on his tiny bed for both him and Alpine. Which reminds him, what if Sam is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>dog </span>
  </em>
  <span>person?</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Bucky tries to think of a clever way to bring up cats casually in conversation, he finishes the last of his fries, wiping his hands on his napkin. Sam unknowingly helps him by giving him an extra moment as he excuses himself to the restroom.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>His phone vibrates with a notification from Instagram, alerting him of a new post by one of his guilty pleasure accounts, ‘catsdoingthings.’ The video immediately has Bucky snorting, it’s a black cat who has apparently stolen it’s owner's sandwich meat and is running through the home dragging the large bounty in it’s mouth as the human tries to snatch the food back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam’s footsteps behind him startle him as he was on his third rewatch of the loop and Sam quirks a brow in question as he slides back into the booth. Bucky wordlessly turns the phone screen toward Sam who finds it just as funny as he does. “I hate when they do that, Figaro tried that </span>
  <em>
    <span>once </span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He says, exasperated. “The little butthole is hard to stay mad at, though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have a cat?” Bucky asks, cheering inwardly, it’s like Sam was </span>
  <em>
    <span>made </span>
  </em>
  <span>for him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, Figaro, he’s a real menace, but he’s mine.” Sam reaches for his phone, no doubt to show Bucky photos, but then stops. “Damn, I just got a new phone so I haven’t filled it up with the monster yet. What page is that? I’m always on the lookout for cat memes, and no one else I know likes cats. You’ll have to text it to me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But I don’t have your number.” Bucky says, confused.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam pulls the phone from Bucky’s loose grip and taps on the screen a few times before passing the phone back to Bucky with a slow grin. “Now you do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>And damn, Bucky has seen smoothness before, hell, he himself had been known to be a suave character, but Sam Wilson oozes such confidence and appeal that Bucky may actually swoon (and he wouldn’t even be mad about it). Sam could’ve offered his social media handle, or just viewed the meme and moved on, but he didn’t. He served the ball clearly over the net to Bucky and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t return it in the morning (he wonders idly if that’s too soon, then dismisses the worry, it’s not like they’re getting any younger, why waste time?).</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The server drops the check off without a word, no doubt ready for them to leave so that he can go back to being cheerless without the burden of customers to look after. Bucky reaches for the check, but Sam beats him to it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh no you don’t, I invited you out.” He says, slipping his card in the plastic tray to cover their meal. Their server quickly runs the card, to Bucky’s disappointment, leaving them without any excuse to linger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I hope to see you again soon, Bucky.” Sam says as he puts his wallet away again and they stand to leave.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, I’m sure you will.” Bucky answers. They make their way to the corner of the block and unfortunately must separate. “I had a really nice time, Sam. Thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The pleasure was all mine,” Sam smiles and says, “Let me know when you make it home.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky nods and turns toward home, blushing down to his ears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Bucky meets his chirping wayward feline in front of his building a half-hour after he and Sam have parted ways for the night, he realizes that he may be half in love with Sam already as he texts him as promised.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, fuck.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>The cursor blinks at him smugly as he stares at the screen with absolutely no motivation. Bucky has been trying to flesh out his thesis (the research itself had been much more engaging. A writer, Bucky is not). He is unhappy with the lack of progress he’s made in the last month. While not behind, Bucky would like for this paper to be absolutely perfect. His thesis advisor, while not rude, exactly, has been rather patronizing throughout their association. Bucky can tell that he thinks Bucky is too old, too flawed, and too unconventional to think that he can successfully complete his studies. Sure, his transcript shows he had a rough two years at the beginning of his undergraduate studies, but Bucky had finished his degree out strong at Brooklyn College and was proud of the fact that he’s managed to get this far without having to take out any loans, preferring instead to work to keep that cloud out of his already overcast mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Machine Learning is particularly near and dear to Bucky’s heart seeing as he’s half robot now, according to Shuri, Nat, and now Sam. The man has been cheering him on via text and-- Bucky has to cut that thought off immediately. He can’t think of Sam right now because he won’t stop and that’s the issue, isn’t it? Sam is consuming his thoughts and Bucky can’t have that right now, not when he’s so close to finishing everything he’s been working for. He can barely focus on his topic of study, so distracted he’s been by texting Sam, then immediately freaking out to Natasha, then venting to his frequently absent cat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Less than a year left to go and this is the </span>
  <em>
    <span>worst </span>
  </em>
  <span>possible time to hit a wall. He has barely made any progress since the last time he met with his thesis advisor and he is not looking forward to that particular subject coming up this afternoon. Bucky should be closer to a finished rough draft so that they can begin the committee selection process and unless Bucky can come up with some progress, he’ll have to put off defending his thesis until the following semester and he refuses to even entertain that idea. He forces himself to just type, not caring that his data isn’t presented in the clearest of ways, he just needs to get something out, he can clean it up later, but he has to be closer to finishing that he is by the time he meets his advisor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>His phone vibrates and of course, it’s Sam, sending him a picture of a happy cartoon leaf with the caption ‘encourage-mint’ and Bucky can’t stop the smile at the stupid joke. He stares at the phone, wanting to tell Sam about his troubles, but their conversations have been limited to light jokes and funny pictures and Bucky doesn’t want to disturb that just yet. It frustrates him, though, because the more he wants to let Sam in, truly, the more he resists, not wanting to open himself to the possibility of Sam deciding that he’s too much or that he’s beyond saving. Sure he’s seen him cry, and sure he’s heard him pour out his soul, but that is only the very surface level of Bucky’s pain and he guards the bleakest part of himself with a single-minded focus that he can’t seem to point toward the things that actually need that focus (such as his studies).</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He feels an unhelpful and frankly self-defeating stab of irritation. He puts his phone on ‘do not disturb’ and turns it facedown to keep him from glancing at it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky knows that he is being unreasonable. It’s not Sam’s fault that Bucky has the self-control of a fruit fly. He can no more stop his thoughts from drifting to Sam than he can from going to the darkest recesses of his mind when he is surprised by a sudden noise at the most inopportune time. He knows that he should respond to Sam’s message, and yet he sets his phone down with a sigh, and drags his eyes back up to his stupid blinking cursor. He churns out another five pages of questionable quality before he realizes that he will be late if he doesn’t get in the shower at that very moment, so he makes sure his document has saved his progress and he closes the computer to get ready.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>Bucky walks from his thesis advisor’s office across campus to the library in a daze. The meeting had gone worse than anticipated, his advisor finally letting his contempt out at Bucky’s lack of progress, despite this being the very first time he had not gone above and beyond the benchmarks they’d set. Bucky nods absentmindedly at a passing TA, ducking into the unofficial break room they’d commandeered at the start of the semester. He slumps down on the couch as he mulls over the ridiculous suggestion he’d just been given. Take a year off and spread his final credit hours over an extra two semesters. Set himself back another 365 days just because he had a mediocre couple of weeks. So the man thinks he could use some more graphs and that he could explain himself better? Bucky wouldn’t mind the critiques if he didn't feel so patronized by someone who refuses to see him as anything more than a meathead who wasn’t serious about his studies.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s interrupted by his musings by the entrance of Shuri, the princess choosing to spend an inordinate amount of time on the campus.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sergeant Barney!” She exclaims, excited. “It’s been ages, you rogue.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky returns her greeting, but his frustration must be showing on his face and she immediately sits in the armchair next to Bucky.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s going on?” She looks at him in concern.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky sighs, what he wouldn’t give to have Shuri’s brain. “My advisor just suggested that I take another year to work on my thesis.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shuri frowns in confusion. “Did you decide to change focus? Or-” She pauses and her gaze softens, “Has something happened? Do you need to take a leave of absence?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky’s reply is only slightly bitter. “Since we met last month, I’ve only added fourteen pages. The goal was twenty five to thirty five.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shuri sits back in her chair, confused. “Have you run into a problem with your research or the methods?” Bucky shakes his head. “So he is suggesting that you basically keep your life on hold for another year due to...the speed at which you write? Does this man not want you to succeed?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky’s irritation is ameliorated by Shuri’s matter of fact assessment, which matches the one that he had come up with himself. His advisor isn’t in his corner, not in the way that he should be. His critiques had been helpful </span>
  <em>
    <span>sometimes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but they were delivered in increasingly demoralizing ways and Bucky is of the mind that certain academics should not take on particular roles if they don’t possess the necessary personality traits to foster their charges’ educational pursuits.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, I don’t know if he does.” Bucky says quietly. “I’ve got my data, my research, I’m just not a writer, I barely know where to start. Organizing has never particularly been my strong suit.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shuri claps her hands together and smiles big. “Oh I know exactly what you mean! Luckily I have my Griot who helps me out, but before he learned enough to assist in my studies, I was given the best advice I had received up to that moment: hire an english major.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well wasn’t that an obvious solution, Bucky thinks to himself. Of course, they would know the best way to structure the argument so that everything flows together well. “Huh.” He says, wondering if there’s some sort of bulletin board or online forum where one goes to request the assistance of some verbose undergrad in search of the odd job to supplement their income. “So do I like, put a flyer up, or post to readit? Or craigslist? Is craigslist still a thing?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, Barney,” She begins with a fond smile, moving to grab a cereal bar from her bag. “There are always at least 15 flyers up on the board in Phillips Hall for writing assistance, try there first before searching online. Text me if you can’t find anyone, I’ll see who my peers have consulted.” She rips the bar open murmuring softly to herself. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Readit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, honestly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky knows what reddit is, but making Shuri think he is way less hip than he is (although, he does unironically use the term ‘hip’) has been a constant source of amusement for the two of them. Most of the time Shuri knows he’s fucking with her, so he lives for the times that he thinks he’s succeeded in exasperating her. “Isn’t that what the youth is into these days? Like Diggle and the tweeterer?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looks at him just as she realizes he’s messing with her and scowls fondly. “I don’t even know why I try to help dinosaurs like you. You’re incorrigible.” She sticks her tongue out at him and retrieves her laptop as well as a comically large pair of headphones. “I’d love to continue schooling you, but I have a call from home scheduled. Don’t forget to text me, Barney, or I’ll spam you with puppies again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky laughs as he checks the time on his phone, feeling better (if only slightly), about his thesis. Bucky has half a mind to write an angry message to his advisor telling him that he’s received better advice from a minor than from his over-credentialed office, but thoughts like those do nothing but take his focus away from finishing his work, not only because he’s more than capable, but because fuck that guy and his shitty opinion. He has 34 minutes until his next class and he is as prepared as he is going to be so he figures now is as good a time as any to make his way down the street to check the notice board as Shuri suggested.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky is completely unsurprised to find several offers of writing assistance posted and once again vows to complain to whoever will listen as soon as he has donned his regalia, finished off by the gold hood he’s about to earn (in December, </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>the following year) that his advisor is a hack.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He snaps a photo of the board, deciding on choosing the best candidate once he’s finished with his lecture, hopefully he can spend some of his office hours on the decision. He heads outside, to make his way back across the street to the building his classroom is in with a few minutes to spare.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Except that </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sam, </span>
  </em>
  <span>of all people, is walking toward him and Bucky has now ignored three text messages from him and so Bucky has to hide so that Sam may continue to think that Bucky is either incapacitated or dying in a ditch somewhere and not ignoring him due to his inner voices. Unfortunately, the street is as unobstructed as can be and Sam is closing in fast. And of course, Sam sees him and now he’s waving and Bucky is frozen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey! Fancy seeing you here.” Sam greets as he stops, smiling, in front of Bucky.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sam! What can I get you today?” Bucky wants to sink into the ground and just live in the concrete for the rest of his life. He knows that his cheeks are red and that he probably looks just as bad as he’s imagining, which is not doing his face any favors. He settles for covering it with his hands. “Please ignore me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam laughs, warm and bright, throwing his head back with the force of it. He sighs happily, laughter tapering off, “What are you offering?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky’s blush deepens and he drops his hands, groaning in mortification. “Clearly nothing of value.” Bucky says morosely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey now, I disagree.” Sam reaches up to pat Bucky’s shoulder, the hand a comforting weight. “Those baby blues tell a different story.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky may just melt into a puddle of embarrassment if Sam keeps talking. Even worse, he can feel his mouth opening and this isn’t going to end well for him at all. “You’re gonna have to read it to me sometime, I guess.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>A passing student actually bursts out laughing, overhearing their conversation, and expressing a muted ‘Oh my </span>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ as they pass by. Bucky thanks his lucky stars that the student doesn’t look familiar, but knowing him, that won’t really matter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that so?” Sam says, “Well pencil me in for Saturday night then, if you’re free.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky cannot believe this. Maybe Natasha is onto something, he does need a show, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bucky Barnes and the Art of Bad Timing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He can’t turn Sam down, though, that’s completely out of the question. “For you? I </span>
  <em>
    <span>guess </span>
  </em>
  <span>I can fit you in.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam smiles, and Bucky feels like Saturday better hurry up. Maybe he’ll have recruited some assistance and added twenty pages to his thesis by then, stranger things have happened. “Wonderful. I have another life-changing experience for you: a perfect Sazerac.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sure I’ll enjoy...that.” He finishes lamely, not having any idea what Sazerac is, but he will probably try anything Sam asks him to at this point, so he nods emphatically. “Unfortunately I have to run, or my students will take off.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I know you will.” Sam reaches up, brushing aside a bit of hair that has fallen loose from Bucky’s signature hastily-thrown-together bun on the top of his head and tucking it behind his ear. “See you later, Buck.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky does not know how he makes it to his classroom, nor does he want to know what his face looks like because the muffled snickers from the assembled students are enough to give him an idea. He clears his throat, trying to keep his voice from cracking and begins his lecture, knowing that his focus for the day was gone the moment Sam said ‘Buck.’</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>Since running into Sam on campus earlier in the week, Bucky’s life has been getting steadily worse. After the lecture that he barely remembers giving, Bucky met up with the TAs in their room in the library, only to discover that Denise, one of the members of Bucky’s small graduate class, has decided to discontinue her studies.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knows that she had been assigned the same advisor he has and wonders if that was the reason she decided to leave, or whether she had some outside circumstance affecting her. He wonders if she’d been given the same advice that he had, to take some time, and decided that it wasn’t worth it. Their group chat, while not particularly lively, has been utterly silent for the past two days since she announced her intention to depart the University.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky has sent seven separate messages to various English majors and received no response. Suddenly his ‘obvious solution’ seems more like a dead end. He opens both YouTube and the GWU subreddit, intending to make a post soliciting assistance and to attempt to learn something while he waits. An hour goes by with no replies and Bucky can feel his anxiety building, an uncomfortable pressure at the bottom of his chest. He can’t help but start thinking about Denise again, wondering if her thesis wasn’t coming along. Did she quit because she found a critical flaw in her methods so far into the process making her want to withdraw rather than begin again?  </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He is unable to focus after the third video on the best practices for writing one’s thesis and so Bucky decides to continue on his own again for now. He opens his document, skimming over the progress that he’s made so far. The page count has been stuck at twenty four for the past two days. He has added three more graphics at the advice of his advisor, but the overall structure is still stymieing him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Logically, he knows that trying to force progress will never work and that either he will get his act together in time to stay on course for the year or he will be forced to actually follow the advisor’s recommendation and delay his thesis defense. But Bucky is past logic and is consumed by his need to finish this and move on, because he can’t accept more failure, not after leaving everything behind for this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>His phone buzzes and it’s Natasha asking about Sam. She had given him a ‘Bucky-proof’ plan of action that morning as they worked a morning shift together and she wants to make sure Bucky doesn’t forget her instructions. Bucky snorts because now is not the time for this, he only has a few hours to work on this before he’s sure to spectacularly screw up flirting again. He sends her his usual ‘frantically writing, talk later’ response and she sends back an eye roll, but doesn’t send any further messages. Bucky stares at the cursor miserably, willing his mind to find some way to gather his findings together and explain them clearly, concisely, and eloquently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another hour passes before Bucky admits defeat and decides to take care of other work, intending to come back to his thesis later. He checks to make sure that his students have not sent him any messages on the online portal that they use for assignments and quizzes. There are a few, so he answers the queries diligently. He also checks his university email, knowing that some prefer to use email rather than the unintuitive portal.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He has a few messages, including one from his thesis advisor and he makes sure to save that one for last because he has a feeling that it can’t be anything good. Eventually, he cannot put it off any further and he opens the email. Bucky cannot believe it, it’s a query on whether or not he has decided to heed his suggestion in light of Denise’s unfortunate announcement.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky closes the entire internet browser without responding and leans forward at his tiny desk, his head in his hands. He can do nothing </span>
  <em>
    <span>but </span>
  </em>
  <span>consider it, seeing as he can’t finish the one document standing between him and certification. He oscillates between terror and anger and latches on to the latter, as it had always been a familiar motivator. Why should he let this setback derail his progress?</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buzzing interrupts his musings and he glances at the clock at the bottom of his computer screen, dismayed to see that it’s heading toward evening, and quickly. He has a little more than an hour before he’s supposed to meet with Sam and Bucky is overwhelmed. If he can’t focus on his paper, he can’t focus on his non-academic life, because failure is absolutely not an option. Of course, he has his B.S., but these days a single degree isn’t nearly enough to get him very far especially in the field he’s trying to break into.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He picks up the phone, hoping that it’s some notification that he can ignore or something that will jog his mind into finding the inspiration it needs to get something productive done.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>It is none of those things. It’s Sam, and he’s telling him that he can’t wait to see him. Bucky, deep into his own spiral of self-torment, envies Sam’s happiness and enthusiasm because he’s already done all of this. He bet Sam had no problems with his schooling because Sam probably doesn’t sit around at home wallowing in his own misery and actually wakes up every morning and gets his shit together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky composes several responses but sends none of them. He stares at the message, so sweet, and he wants so badly to just get up and </span>
  <em>
    <span>go</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Instead, he types two simple words: </span>
  <em>
    <span>i can’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and turns his phone completely off. There will be no more distractions from here on out.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stares at the solid black screen of his phone for a moment, knowing that no more messages are coming through. At least he’ll have his degree.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stares at the endless blinking of the cursor as it stays obstinately in the same spot well into the night. Bucky doesn’t stop staring at it until dawn breaks.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>When Bucky wakes up just after noon, he knows that he’s made a terrible mistake. He should have gone out with Sam. He wants to appear before Sam and fall to his knees begging for another chance. He wants to go back in time and shake himself free from his misery. Instead, he drags himself out of bed and makes his way into his cramped shower. He misses the companionship of his cat, who’s been gone for the last three nights, and feels even more sorry for himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a shower, Bucky knows he must face the music, so he turns his phone back with a strong sense of foreboding. As soon as his home screen appears, Bucky holds his breath, dreading what will or won’t appear the moment he taps on his text messages. The small red ‘5’ that appears over the icon as the phone finally finishes loading seems innocent enough. He also has two voicemails.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Three of the alerts are from his TA group chat, and Bucky will deal with that later.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>One is from Natasha, asking if Bucky listened to her advice. His stomach sinks as he realizes that he’s going to have to tell her what happened and he immediately puts that off as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>That leaves Sam and Bucky’s heart pounds as he nervously taps on the thread. It’s short and sweet, a series of question marks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky exhales slowly. They aren’t as bad as he thought. He then moves on to the voice messages. They are both from Sam.</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hey, man, I’m just checking on you. I came by Quarter’s in case you decided to come out, but it’s been almost an hour, so I’m gonna head back home. Hope you’re okay, Buck. Bye</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You know, I understand if you need some space, or some time. I get that. Please let me know that you’re ok, though. You can call or text me any time, James. </span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky immediately texts Sam. It is nowhere near enough of an apology but Bucky would prefer to do that with his voice at the very least. He returns Nat’s message as well before checking his window to make sure Alpine wasn’t waiting to be let in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frowning at the absence of the cat, Bucky decides that nourishment cannot be put off any longer and checks his refrigerator for anything edible. He finds nothing but grape jelly and a small amount of apple juice that he quickly polishes off. The four sad slices of bread remaining pass the mold check and Bucky throws two slices in the toaster grabbing a knife to spread his jelly with. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He checks his emails, munching on the toast between messages, seeing that his post on reddit has finally yielded some interest. He has hammered out a tentative meeting with someone to assist him with formatting for Tuesday and Bucky feels like he can finally breathe again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>There is no response from Sam, but Bucky doesn’t want to push, not after the way he basically stood Sam up. To keep his mind off Sam, Bucky decides that it’s as good a time as any to go get groceries, as he’s just eaten the last meager bits of food in his apartment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The evening passes slowly for Bucky, seeming to stretch on for days as he returns with enough food for the next week at least. He cleans up his place, all the while glancing at his phone every few minutes, trying to will it to chime. It doesn’t. With nothing else to do, he comes back to his thesis, and to his surprise adds some substance to it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky eventually gets ready for bed, checking one last time for Alpine at the window and then sliding into bed. His phone buzzes. Sam’s response has finally come. A single character. Thumbs up. Bucky’s stomach sinks as he considers that he could have just called Sam and said what he needed to say. He sends a gif of a pleading cat back and takes longer than usual to fall asleep that night.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>The moment Bucky has been dreading is happening right now. Natasha gives him a weird look when he freezes, seeing Sam approaching the door through the glass of the storefront. She opens her mouth to ask what’s up (so he hasn’t gotten around to telling her about the thumbs up, sue him. She had given him a look so pointed after he told her of his shitty night, he didn’t want to go any further) but he shakes his head quickly right as Sam opens the door to enter. She shrugs as she goes to grab the travelers, leaving Bucky to take Sam’s order.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam has a polite smile on his face as he approaches the register, but Bucky sees the usual sparkle in Sam’s eyes is notably absent.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What can I get you today?” Bucky asks, wondering if Sam will </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally </span>
  </em>
  <span>order a flavor that they don’t have so he will be spared the indignity of these cavity-creating monstrosities.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just a mocha latte today, thanks.” Sam answers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky feels like the whole world dims. Has Bucky managed to bungle this so badly that Sam would leave without his usual complicated sugary disaster? He accepts Sam’s payment and brings the travelers over to the counter in a daze. The sharp hiss of the espresso machine jostles him to alertness and suddenly he’s upset. Bucky has managed to fuck up one more thing in his long list of shit he’s ruined in his relatively short life thus far. So he needed a minute to gather his thoughts, that’s it. Sam didn’t have to start acting </span>
  <em>
    <span>weird </span>
  </em>
  <span>about it (Bucky mulishly ignores the gloating internal voice saying that </span>
  <em>
    <span>he’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>the one who started all the weirdness).</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Normally he’d add a lid to Sam’s drink for him since he knew he’d be traveling with it, but Bucky is nothing if not petty and so he decides that he will sprinkle an unimpressed smiley face on Sam’s drink in cocoa powder. One of the eyes is definitely bigger than the other, and the frown is a tad off-center, but Bucky thinks that the message is clear enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hands the drink to Sam who takes it silently, their fingers not touching this time. Bucky feels the absence of that little spark keenly. Sam looks at the drink, then back to Bucky saying nothing, only raising a questioning brow.</span>
</p>
<p>
    
  </p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky has no idea what to say, it had seemed like a good idea at the time, but clearly, Sam isn’t laughing. “I’m sorry, Sam.” He blurts out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That one eye is bigger than the other?” Sam asks, and Bucky thinks that maybe everything isn’t completely ruined. “Have I been drinking side-eyes this whole time?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, no.” Bucky flushes, “It’s a new skill I’m cultivating. Chocolate messages.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm.”    </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I really am sorry Sam,” Bucky repeats, watching as Sam makes his way over to the end of the counter with lids, stirrers, and cup sleeves. The snap of the lid covering the tragic chocolate art quite loud.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll see you around, Bucky.” Sam turns to leave, travelers in hand, and Bucky could swear that the door closing behind him sounds like an ending.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well that could have gone better.” Natasha says drily, startling Bucky as she comes up behind him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>smart, Natta.” Bucky mumbles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nope.” She admonishes. “Don’t sass </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>just because loverboy hurt your feelings.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky knows she’s right and sighs, his shoulder slumping. “I really did botch that big time, Tash.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nods, not bothering to disagree. “You did.” She leans her head against his metal arm and gives him a sort of awkward side hug, “But I have a feeling that it’s going to turn out ok.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>They finish the evening out in silence, closing up the shop without much fuss. Natasha looks like she wants to ask Bucky something, but thinks better of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I really do think you guys are going to work it out.” She says instead, rising up on her tiptoes to kiss Bucky on the cheek.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s touched by her concern and gives her a real hug back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks, Nat.” He says and then they are parting ways, him to walk home and her to the metro station.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky is almost at his front door when he hears Alpine’s sad mewling near his feet. He hasn’t seen his cat for almost a week and now he is crying and favoring one of his front paws delicately.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, buddy, what happened to you?” Bucky asks quietly as he bends down to inspect the paw. One of Alpine's claws is covered in blood and there are flakes of keratin at unnatural angles. Alpine lets him hold up the paw, but as Bucky moves to touch it, the cat hisses in warning. Bucky gingerly picks him up, careful not to jostle his injury, and heads indoors to care for his hurt friend.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>The day has been long and Bucky would like nothing more than to make it to his building and pass out (preferably on his bed, but as long as he makes it through his front door, he isn’t particularly picky). He trudges down the block towards his building on autopilot. He had sent another message to Sam a week ago and while he responded, the conversation tapered off very quickly. Bucky hadn’t gone a day without wanting to go back to one of Sam’s meetings but the farthest he got was ten feet from the front door. He thought about going to one that Sam didn’t lead, but that seemed worse than not going at all somehow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky turns to check the list of pet flyers (he always checks them, all animals need their homes) on the bulletin board on the corner and stops to look a bit closer. He sees familiar white fur and it looks an awful lot like Alpine, which cannot be right, as Alpine is safe at home still recovering from a paw injury. He turns the corner and sees Sam, of all people, putting up flyers on the telephone pole at the end of the block.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey!” Bucky yells.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam doesn’t look up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Weird-coffee Sam!” He yelps before he can stop himself, his usual Modus Operandi whenever Sam is involved.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>That gets Sam’s attention and he immediately turns and scowls as he sees Bucky.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What, man?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky catches up to him and points accusingly toward the flyers in Sam’s grip. “That is </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>cat, Alpine, and he is most definitely </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>missing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam rolls his eyes. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Sam says as if Bucky is a particularly dull student (which is quite a turnabout for Bucky, he knows that expression well). “This is </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>cat, Figaro and he certainly </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>missing. Has been for two weeks.” Sam's voice softens as he thinks about his furry feline companion all alone in the urban nightmare that is DC.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sam, listen, I’m telling you that this is Alpine.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>My </span>
  </em>
  <span>cat.” Bucky reaches for his phone to show Sam photographic evidence, but somewhere between leaving the cafe and now his phone has lost the last of its juice and Bucky is left staring at the dead screen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam raises an eyebrow, clearly about to leave and continue putting up flyers for Bucky’s not-missing asshole of a cat. Bucky sighs because he’s tired, but he can’t let Sam keep thinking that Alpine is somehow </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>cat. “Follow me and I’ll show you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yeah, I’m just going to go to a strange place with a strange man who doesn’t appreciate sweet milk juice.” Sam gripes as he moves to continue putting his flyers up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on, Sam. I’m not that strange.” Bucky pleads, needing Sam to come see that his (no, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bucky’s</span>
  </em>
  <span>) cat is perfectly fine. “Besides, if I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span>, would you really want Alpi--Figaro stuck with me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lead the way, then.” Sam huffs in exasperation as he stops and turns back toward Bucky. “But if you murder me, I will come back and haunt your ass for the rest of eternity. I am that petty.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky is too tired to do more than crack a grateful smile. “It’s just one more block.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>They make their way down the street and Bucky stops at his building, opening the front door and making his way to the last door on the left. He looks back at Sam before he opens the door, embarrassed. “Uh, I really wasn’t expecting company so sorry in advance for the mess.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam exhales from his nose in a small huff as he follows him inside the apartment. “I am not worried about your mess unless it’s pickled eyeballs or something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky opens the door, Alpine doing his usual aloof greeting of a chirp or two. That is, until the cat spots Sam. Alpine immediately scurries over, chirps giving way to happy meows as </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>cat winds around Sam’s legs entirely too familiarly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well I’ll be damned.” Sam says incredulously as he squats to greet the lying liar of a cat. “Figaro, you feline finesser! I’ve been out of my mind and you’ve run off to cheat on me with </span>
  <em>
    <span>this guy</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t believe that this asshole-” Bucky begins, Alpine turning to look at him, only to return rubbing his face on as much of Sam as he could reach. “How in the world does this cat manage to have </span>
  <em>
    <span>two </span>
  </em>
  <span>homes and-” Bucky thinks back on all the times he hadn’t seen Alpine for days, and how he worried about the little monster’s safety. He’s glad, of course, that Alpine was with Sam, but geez, he could’ve meowed or something. “Oh my God, it’s been almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>two </span>
  </em>
  <span>years?!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Said cat senses that it’s probably better to remain near Sam, seeing as Bucky seems to be having trouble dealing with the fact that </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>cat is probably only half his at best.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Has the strange man been keeping you inside against your will?” Sam asks the cat, scratching behind his ears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No! Well, yes, but no. I ran into the little idiot with a broken claw. We had to go to the vet and everything, I actually took the last bandage off yesterday. I was gonna let him back out in the morning.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, this is quite a turn of events.” Sam shakes his head as he rises back to his feet, Alpine scampering over to jump in Bucky’s lone armchair. “I still can’t believe this little asshole.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Me either. I worried every time I let his dumb butt outside, but he cried so terribly when I tried to keep him inside when he first came around.” Bucky thinks about something, “Did you ever try to put a collar on him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam snorts. “I went through seven before I admitted defeat. The harness was even worse, he would just-- flop over until I took it off him. Such a drama queen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And to think I was going to try a harness next.” Bucky shakes his head as they both seem to want to keep up the small talk, ignoring the elephant in the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well I guess I’d better go take the flyers down, since technically Figgy has been living a whole double life under my nose.” Sam says, turning toward the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stay,” Bucky says, “Please? I am not above using Alpine’s cute face.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam turns around and moves toward Bucky. “Of course that face works on you, no wonder Figs keeps trying it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky smiles as Sam sits down in the armchair, laughing as Alpine narrowly misses being squashed. The cat hops away with such practiced ease that Bucky has a feeling that this happens often.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He takes a seat on his bed and Alpine joins him, smacking him with his tail.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sam.” Bucky stops, nervous. “I want you to know that I </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>didn’t mean to leave you hanging at Quarter’s.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam’s eyes narrow slightly, but he remains silent.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky decides that honesty is probably just the best way to go at this point, he has nothing to lose. “My advisor had just basically told me to take an extra year because I was a few pages behind on my thesis and then Shuri said I should get an English major to give me some pointers on how to organize everything, but then none of them responded, and then you asked me out, and then my advisor asked me if I was going to take the year off or not. And that same day one of my classmates dropped out and I was convinced that would be me and then I saw your message and I thought that you probably had none of these problems and that your thesis was probably brilliant because </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re</span>
  </em>
  <span> brilliant and then I stared at my computer for 8 hours.” Bucky stops to take a breath. “It was not the best of days and I handled it about as poorly as I could have. I’m sorry, Sam. I never wanted to be a flake or miss out on time spent with you or make you think that I wasn’t absolutely deliriously excited about seeing you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam is silent for a moment, steepling his fingers under his chin. “Well for starters, I never wrote a thesis.” Bucky is floored at this admission and Sam chuckles. “A thousand hours of practical work was its own beast, though. And it took me 6 years to earn my bachelor’s, so no, it wasn’t a breeze. But none of that really matters, because of the most important thing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky holds his breath, trying to keep his face neutral in case Sam decides to put Bucky out of his misery and say that they should just work out a visitation schedule for their recalcitrant kitty and leave it at that. “And what’s that?” He asks when Sam doesn’t continue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That Quarter’s hasn’t closed as far as I know, so the world’s greatest sazerac is still available for consumption.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky’s smile may fall off his face, it’s so big. “So I </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>completely fuck this up?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>completely </span>
  </em>
  <span>fucked it up, for sure.” Sam laughs. “But you sort of just un-fucked it, so I guess we’re back to square one: more life-changing experiences?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m taking any square you’re willing to give me. Also, I’m clearly a trash person, do you want anything to drink or-” Bucky thinks, not sure if he has any food he’d actually let anyone else consume. “Drink?” He repeats lamely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam laughs, “No, I’m good, but thank you.” He looks at his watch and frowns at the hour, getting up from the chair. “When did it get so late?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s felt like midnight since three o’clock for me,” Bucky stands with him, intent on walking Sam the few feet to the door when Alpine decides to follow them as well. Bucky looks between the cat and Sam, wondering exactly how they’re going to navigate this. Sam picks up Alpine, nuzzling their foreheads together and Bucky cannot take it, they’re too adorable.</span>
</p>
<p>
    
  </p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I believe it’s my shift for this butthead.” Sam says, looking at Bucky for agreement. Bucky can’t help but nod, the gooey smile still on his face at his cat and his Sam in the same place. “Well, now you’ll </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>to show up to Quarters, or Figaro will use his sad face which is much more effective.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We can’t have that, can we?” Bucky asks as Sam opens the door.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He moves to step outside but is interrupted by a meow from the cat in his arms. Both men look at the cat, startled. Alpine’s tail is swishing back and forth and so is his head as he stares at the two of them keenly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Um, are you saying you want to stay here?” Sam asks as if the cat will respond. Except he does, not in English, but with another meow, louder than the first. “Well, ok.” Sam puts Figaro down but he just winds himself between Sam's legs, doing the same to Bucky before sitting between them both, staring at them the whole time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky stares back down at him in confusion, never having seen Alpine act like this before. “Is he-- Is he trying to tell us something?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>think the little asshole is definitely trying to tell us something.” The slight deepening of Sam’s voice has Bucky’s eyes snapping up so fast he may have gotten a bit dizzy. He watches in a daze as Sam reaches up, cupping Bucky’s jaw. Sam’s deep brown eyes are staring directly into his as if searching for permission.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh</span>
  <em>
    <span>. Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Bucky vows to buy Alpine all the treats for this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky leans forward, lips parting slightly and his brain melts the moment Sam’s lips touch his. They are somehow softer than even his overactive imagination and Bucky never wants this moment to end. He reaches out, resting his hands on Sam’s waist, relishing in his tiny gasp. That’s all Bucky needs before his tongue darts forward to meet Sam’s and he may never breathe again if this is the alternative. They part eventually, the need for a real breath too much to ignore and they stand, foreheads pressed together in Bucky’s doorway as Alpine chirps happily winding between their legs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s one hell of a goodnight kiss, Buck.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky doesn’t even try to stop his groan as his eyes fall shut. “Oh, Sammy, you don’t know what you do to me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam looks him straight in the eye, “Why don’t you show me?” His mouth curves salaciously as he presses back into the flat, closing the door behind him.    </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alpine, alone in the hallway, trots toward the front door of the building. He’ll visit one of his other humans tonight, these two will be busy for a while, it seems.</span>
</p>
<p>Fin</p>
<p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Whew, my first ever bang!  I had a plan for this story and it went in the complete opposite direction of everything I had outlined.  The only constant is Figalpine being a furry finesser.</p></blockquote><div class="children module" id="children">
  <b class="heading">Works inspired by this one:</b>
  <ul>
    <li>
        <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26592172">FANART: So You Run on Gasoline</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote">OriginalCeenote</a>
    </li>
  </ul>
</div></div></div>
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